Life, Simply

Is it cynical to be a fatalist?

I hear a lot of  "if it's meant to be, it will be." Or, "It didn't go as I hoped; it wasn't meant to be."  There isn't usually negativity in these statements. Resignation yes, but not resignation tantamount to defeat so much as healthy acceptance--a rolling with the punches kind of acceptance.

Many times and by many sources we are told to get up and try again, to not be bitter or hold resentment, to try a new approach or even turn towards a new direction. Adversity is known not just to be a good teacher; the handling of it will always bring a lasting result, for good or for bad.

I've always admired people of humble expectations--people who truly find that less (than what some others have) is plenty; they don't just "settle" but relish what they have with gusto.  Are you familiar with the portrait "Grace" by Eric Enstrom? The old gentleman in this image is in a pose of thankfulness over a simple bowl of soup and a loaf of bread, and one gets the feeling that a five course meal would just be too much for this guy. He would be appalled by the excess, he'd turn it down flat and consider the bearer of the offer just plain greedy.

Bread and Soup--it's plenty in the eye of the beholder

                                                           
I love the earnestness of this kind of contentment. I think that it's real, and that despite our material world there are still many on this planet who live happily with modest expectations that are yet very fulfilling.

Think about it. In many a remote island or other corner of this earth, people still call a hut home. They don't worry about a mortgage or a fire policy because if anything happens to the hut it's cheaper to throw another one together than it is to pay an insurance policy on it until kingdom comes. They forage and fish and barter, and their appreciation for simple native foods means that gourmand hankerings are few if any. Fashion in home decor and clothing is minimalist, and translates to more equality in the neighborhood.

Things that we in the more material world can't imagine life without cannot in their world be imagined WITH.
And although it is probably too simplistic to say that what one doesn't know one can't miss, it does seem a curious twist of fate that we who live in developed countries at times suffer real angst because of things we know we NEED but cannot afford to have.

A hut dweller, I'm pretty sure, doesn't worry about the high cost of healthcare. I'm sure hut dwellers have anxiety about health issues (as do all people) but their options on how much they can do about it are few. OUR options appear to be many, but really?? Of every person that I know, "losing everything" over a health crisis is a big concern in day-to-day stresses.

A strange thing happened as I began writing this entry, all the way to the end of the previous sentence. I wrote from my own musings, honestly, and then a sister's recent comment on Facebook about a Sidney Poitier film festival reminded me of how much I enjoyed reading his memoir some years ago. I pulled it off my bookshelf and started rereading it, and as often happens, knew immediately why I loved it so much but was equally impressed by how many of the details I had forgotten.

My musings mirrored Poitier's own take on the benefits of a (primitive) island life, and in actuality occurred years prior to my reading his memoir, in a column for a regional newspaper. The truth stands though, that if you want to hear from a source who knows firsthand, you must read "The Measure of a Man." Poitier lived as a child on a tiny, remote island of the Bahamas,"Cat" island, and his first chapter so fondly recalls life there he named the whole entry, "The Idyll."

Poitier describes his growing-up years as void of worldly (modern) conveniences, even for that time. No one on Cat Island had electricity or inside plumbing, owned a television or a car, and it was really only family, community members and the natural world that provided influences for growing children.

Nurturing occurred without distraction from outside forces, and all the small diversions Poitier enjoyed added up to some pretty joyful memories, because, as he observed in his writings, poverty on this island was not all-depressing or soul-destroying as it can be under other conditions.

The man (as a boy) truly lived in a thatch-roofed dwelling, a hut, if you will. It wasn't until years later when Poitier hit the streets of New York City that he saw firsthand the "other" conditions that "other" people lived in. He experienced the rudest of awakenings about race, but forged ahead to make a grand name for himself in the higher echelons of the acting community.

And what a name it is. The amazing thing (to me) about the iconic, vastly successful life of Sidney Poitier is that he didn't ask or pray for it. From his own words, it seems true that he had limitless expectations, but although he discourses beautifully from his spiritual side, it is clear he does not credit his introspective insights to a leaning on any traditional religion or belief system.

In other words, he didn't (apparently) appeal as many of us do to the distinct God so many of us believe in. He did seem to feel a destiny, and told a story of how this destiny was predicted through the visions of an island woman at the very questionable start (premature birth) of his life. Reading about his fulfilled destiny brought forth another conundrum for me: does God answer prayers that are not consciously asked for, by persons who are not seeking favor from Him?

Fate, according to the dictionary, refers to events prescribed by an ultimate power--and depending on  the believer in fate, the description of that ultimate power can vary. I know what it means for ME, you know what it means for YOU. Is it cynical or is it spiritually uplifting to believe that a prescribed fate we would rather not experience is still in need of acceptance?

And this brings us (or maybe just me) to the final conundrum of this entry: if I believe in one God, the Almighty Father, Creator of heaven and earth, do I believe His decisions are all-wise, all-planned, and all destined to be carried out according to His will--the seemingly good and the seemingly bad alike? Or do I believe that prayer and attitude can change everything?

According to Pastor Joel Osteen, we need to think bigger in order to "get" bigger (returns) in life. Osteen recently told a story I loved, of his teenage son, whenever in a steakhouse with his dad, confidently and happily ordering the bigger steak on the menu. The son doesn't ask permission from his dad; he just knows who is father is and that his father wants him to enjoy the bigger steak.

Osteen likens this to our Father the Creator, who wants to bestow upon His children bigger and better. Osteen is big on encouraging us to have expectations that bigger and better is around the corner, just waiting for our faith to kick things in gear.

At times I hang onto every word of Osteen's encouragements, most often in the throes of his very vital sermons, if you will. At other times I believe in "Thy will be done." That whatever our wishes, it is HIS will that takes precedence.Can these two seemingly contrasting thought trains about our fate be one and the same?

Easily I could end this the way I began and still voice wonder whether it is cynical to be a fatalist. I suspect though, that the real wonder of it all is that in the end, all of God's will WILL feel like the prayers we SHOULD have prayed all along were the ones He ultimately answered.